Harry tiptoes down to the dungeon after dinner with a pounding headache threatening at her temples and more than a bit of nausea pressing her lips together. She couldn't eat much at dinner either. At this rate, Hogwarts will be worse for her digestion than the Dursleys! The thought isn't as humorous as she means it to be, and she banishes it with reluctance as she knocks on the Potions classroom door.

"Come in," she hears Snape's acerbic tone, as the door slowly creaks open.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry says, managing not to stammer. Professor Snape is seated behind the massive table at the front of the room, parchments already cluttering the scarred surface.

"Yes, Potter," the Potions professor snaps. "Close the door behind you, come here, and sit down."

Harry does as she's bid, shifting nervously in her chair.

"You are not what I expected, Potter," Snape finally says, regarding her with glittering black eyes that make her feel like an insect pinned to a card. Harry nods, twisting her fingers in her lap. "I thought you'd be in Gryffindor." The man's mouth twists in an ugly sneer.

"The Sorting Hat said I'd be happier in Ravenclaw, sir," Harry speaks up, and Snape's eyebrows slant down.

"Obviously, Potter, or I dare say you would not be wearing that tie," he replies witheringly. "You're not what anyone expected, are you? Everyone expected the Boy Who Lived..."

"Everyone was wrong," Harry blurts out, feeling rather defiant. Her cheeks colour and she slumps back in her seat when Snape gives her that look again.

"Obviously," Snape repeats. "Now-the purpose of this meeting. For reasons I cannot divulge at this time, you may notice my behaviour toward you rather...cruel in lessons. It is not personal, do not take it as such. And secondly..." Snape rummages around the table, pulling out a very battered-looking leaflet and pushing it toward Harry. "I believe you may find this useful."

With slightly trembling fingers, Harry reaches out and takes it, unfolding it to reveal a glittery banner that says Hogwarts in Rainbow: A Group For Those Without a Refuge.

"It's for students such as yourself, Potter," Snape informs her briskly. "They meet every Thursday at seven p.m., just outside this classroom. If you arrive on time, an older student will guide you to the proper meeting place. It is, of necessity, quite hidden."

"Thank you, sir," Harry murmurs, eyes wide. There are other students? Like her? It seems impossible and yet the proof is there, emblazoned across the crumpled parchment.

"You're welcome, Potter," Snape says, the words stilted and awkward. Like he hasn't spoken them in years. "Now," he pushes a piece of clean parchment across the table, along with a quill and ink stand. "Your penmanship is atrocious, Potter. Copy out 'My name is Harry Potter and I go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' fifty times. Once you've finished, you can leave."

Despite the tedious work, Harry finds herself blooming into a constant grin. She's not alone, and that feeling is greater than anything she's ever known before, even finding out that she's a witch. Even Snape seems almost human by the end of her lines, which she shows him with a slightly triumphant smirk.

"Acceptable, Potter," Snape pronounces, studying her work. "Keep practicing, however. I will not be so lenient on your homework."

"Thank you, sir," Harry stammers, taking back the proffered sheaf and shoving it into her book-bag.

"Good night, Potter," Snape says, and Harry takes her cue, nearly skipping out of the Potions classroom before remembering she is probably supposed to seem far more chastened with what was, after all, technically a detention.

Hermione is lurking behind a suit of armour just by the steps, an uneasy look on her face that brightens when she sees Harry.

"Well?" she says eagerly, practically pouncing her friend. "How did it go?"

"He just wanted to talk to me about my penmanship," Harry says, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. "Not much to talk about." The leaflet in her book-bag feels heavy as a boulder, but she isn't sure she wants to tell Hermione about it yet. Certainly not in a wide-open corridor.

"You were in there an awfully long time," Hermione trails off in doubt.

"Yeah, well, I've got rotten penmanship," Harry replies, crinkling her nose and making Hermione laugh.

"Come on," Hermione says, hastening up the broad stone steps. "If we hurry, we can get all our homework done before curfew!"

"Joy," Harry grumbles in mock annoyance, but she can't help the smile that still curls the corners of her mouth. She can't wait for Thursday.